Monday, 25 July 2016

It’s not yet the end of July, and I’ve already written nine
posts this month, after nine in June, - and that’s only on this blog. Phew, I
think I need a rest!

If the
truth be told, I’m feeling a bit bleurgh. After everything that has happened
this year – I was finally ready, and physically more able, to get on and do some
things that will get my life going in the right direction. But Murphy's Law has prevailed, and I’ve
come down with a cold, and all I want (and need) to do is sleep.

Or maybe it’s the aftermath of writing and thinking so much
the last week or so, and now it’s done, I can't immediately think where to turn, so I'm appealing for suggestions - anyone have any great ideas?

Whilst you’re coming up with those suggestions though, I
think I’m going to go lie down on my couch on this sunny winter’s day, and read
part two of Elena Ferrante’s Naples series. I couldn’t do that if I had kids.

Saturday, 23 July 2016

I couldn’t write my previous post about infertility
privilege without taking it that step further to look also at my experience as
a woman without children. I look at my No Kidding life and think about the
barriers I’ve faced that others may not have faced. But I look too at the mountains others have had to climb, but I have not.

So I’m going to note some of the issues that have made my
transition to a No Kidding life easier. The first list includes, ironically,
the issues that were major barriers in my quest to become a parent.

New Zealand has regulated infertility practices. Perhaps the
same things that made it hard to conceive – ie donor eggs are very rare, it is
illegal to pay for them or for surrogacy, special ethical approvals must be
given on a case-by-case basis, IVF drug dosages are regulated – meant that it
took some of the decision away from me.

Adoption is now rare in New Zealand, so it is easier for me
to shoot down the “just adopt” brigade.

Geographical distance from the rest of the world – from gestational
surrogacy in India, or donor egg cycles in Spain, or multiple IVF cycles
elsewhere – means that the difficulty of taking these measures also stops
people suggesting them as much, and perhaps reduces the judgement that we didn’t
do them.

So some of these factors were barriers when trying to
conceive, but are now advantages in adjusting to and living a No Kidding life.
There is an additional list of advantages/privilege I enjoy, although I am sure
it is far from comprehensive:

I’m not part of a religious community that puts emphasis on
family

My parents never pressured me to give them a grandchild.
That was all me. (I wanted to be able to give my father a grandson. He never
got one, though for a few brief years he had a great-grandson.)

My in-laws never pressured us, beyond the occasional dropped
hint.

Whilst there is still a very definite glass ceiling in New
Zealand, we are not the macho, misogynist society we would have been forty
years ago, or the even more extreme examples that we might see elsewhere in the
world, where the lot of a childless woman is much more difficult than mine,
even deadly.

As someone who has been fortunate to have a career, I didn’t
100% feel that my life was worthless when I couldn’t have children.

I have been self-employed during the particular period of
healing, which has meant I’ve been able to take time to heal and recover, away
from the pressure of a full-time workplace.

I’m well educated and curious, and so I have had the ability
to think and come to terms with my situation, to explore my own thoughts and
reactions, and to learn from others.

Whilst a good friend, my sister and niece have all had
children in this period, I also have friends without children, or with older
children, and so I haven’t constantly been surrounded by babies.

My friends who do have children don’t see their worth solely
as mothers, and so are able to talk about many other subjects as well.

My husband loves to travel. And we can afford to travel. It
may not seem relevant, but it makes life easier to be able to look forward to
new experiences.

I’m sure there are many other areas where I enjoy privilege in my No Kidding life.
Yes, I’m aware this is almost a reverse game of Pain Olympics, in that I can
look at others and say, “they have it harder than I do.” But I don’t think it
is unhealthy to do that. After all, I’m not denying what is difficult for me. I’m just
acknowledging what has been easier. Doing that makes me grateful. And gratitude is never a bad thing.

Thursday, 21 July 2016

At best, the
application of the idea that we can achieve anything if we put our minds to
it/work hard enough/want it enough brings focus to our efforts, inspires us,
and gives us hope. That encourages us to look at the ways we can improve
our chances. When I was full of hope, I certainly tried a number of things I would never have attempted previously.

So if we are successful, we congratulate ourselves on doing that
thing which, we believe, changed our fate. In the infertility world, it is
pinpointing what made the difference in the particular cycle when they
conceived, or during the pregnancy that stuck. Maybe it was just relaxing.
Maybe it was sticking at it for just that one last cycle. Or pushing for a
different protocol, or working with a different doctor or clinic. Everyone
wants to feel that their choices made the difference, that they had some
control, and they want the credit for that. It’s quite a natural response.

But that belief in our individual power can give rise to
the message that there is actual proof that you can, in fact, achieve anything if you put
your mind to it/want it enough/work hard enough. These messages exhort us to
never give up, because they didn’t, and look at them now. Or they suggest that
the reason we are not pregnant or parents is because we should have tried X, Y
or Z, because it worked – so they have concluded - for them. When these
messages are given out, this belief
can become damaging, accusatory even. It can (though of course it doesn’t
always, as shown by some of my wonderful readers and commenters) turn into an
unpleasant smugness: “I’m pregnant because I did X, Y or Z.” The message, usually
unspoken but not always, is that they tried harder/worked harder/wanted it more
than we did.

That of course, intentionally or unintentionally, sends the message that those of us who
didn’t achieve success only have ourselves to blame. It judges. And it is
received as such. It makes those who might be contemplating stopping second
guess their decisions, guiltily wondering if they don’t want it enough, feeling
that others see them as weak, giving up, quitters. It makes them more
susceptible to those who spread the message to never give up who have commercial
motivations (their doctors and clinics), or with societal/religious motivations
behind their message.

It makes those of us who did stop, whether through choice
or not, feel guilty, as if we didn’t deserve to have children, because we too
didn’t want it enough. Unlike the successfully pregnant/parents, this message
tells us that we clearly didn’t work hard enough/want it enough/try hard
enough/stick at it long enough to succeed. “It’s your fault,” say the messages.
“You didn’t deserve it.” We feel this blame, this judgement, acutely, because –
immersed in these messages - we inevitably ask ourselves if this means we were
undeserving, if there was more we could have/should have done?

Yet there is still so much unknown about infertility and
assisted reproduction that, in many cases, even if a couple did howl at the moon,
stand on their heads, push for that one last cycle with a particular protocol,
eat foods X and Y and avoid Z, before or during that particular cycle when they
conceived, the facts are that they don’t know and may never definitively know
which (if any) aspects made the difference, and which (if any) didn’t. Even
doctors will admit that they don’t really know which results they control and
which they don’t. Likewise, those of us who are No Kidding lifers don’t know if
we could have taken any actions that would have seen us end up with a child, or
if all our actions would have been futile. Ultimately, it all comes down to our
own personal opinions.

And these personal opinions are inevitably shaped by our own
experiences, our own privilege - infertility privilege, in this case. The thing
with privilege though, is that so many who benefit from it never understand or
accept that they had advantages that others didn’t. They think their success or
advantages are a result of their hard work or desire, rather than privilege or
even random luck. Maybe they are – hard work and desire inevitably help. But we
all know that we can have all the hard work and desire in the world and still
not reach our goals.

Some of us might think that we recognise our own privilege,
but do we? Do we recognise it all? In the infertility world, whilst we are
probably aware that we might be lucky to live somewhere where assisted
reproduction or adoption is available, we might feel grateful that we can afford
to pursue these (if we can), and believe that we are recognising our privilege.
But we might not realise that the simple geography of where we live will
control whether we can pursue any or unlimited or funded or unregulated
assisted reproduction cycles. For example, consider the postcode lottery of IVF
funding in the UK, or that countries or states bordering or near to us might
offer options that our own countries/states don’t. Our locations, our cultures,
religions, laws, family circumstances, and societal norms, might determine
whether or not we can adopt, and even how we might feel about facing a No
Kidding life.

We might also think that we have a choice about continuing
to try to reach our goals, but we might be oblivious to the benefits that have
led us to that feeling - the fact that our diagnoses have not ruled out options
completely, that our health doesn’t prevent us from adopting, that our health
system or insurance company will fund more cycles, that our culture (and
government) is open to IVF or adopting. We might not realise that the education
or personal strength or family history or religious background or colour of our
skin that gives us the ability to advocate for ourselves is a result of
privilege. Sometimes, the very fact of
being able to exercise our free will is privilege.

Am I saying that
nothing is within our control? Maybe I am, but not entirely. What I am saying is
that the issues that influence our choices or open doors or create
barriers to choice are endless (I am sure you can think of areas of luck or
privilege that I have not). We are kidding ourselves if we are so overcome with
pride that we can ignore the influences of privilege or even sheer luck in the
process.

All this makes the message that “you can achieve anything if
you put your mind to it” seem very shallow. It’s a trite slogan that alienates
many people, belittles and berates, blaming and shaming those of us without the
goals we had wanted to achieve. It silences those who didn’t achieve, because
clearly, as we never had the right stuff to reach our goals, we are not
qualified to speak.

I admit that I’m writing this because I’m still smarting
from something I read a year or two ago and, for various reasons, have never
written about before. Those of us who reject the “put your mind to it” message
or the “never give up” message were claimed to be, quote, “sanctimoniously
competing for gold in the Pain Olympics.” That accusation cut to the quick
(even though it was not necessarily personally directed at me –I don’t know), because
it felt so viciously (if perhaps – I want to give the benefit of the doubt -
unconsciously) judgemental.

Rejecting this message, saying it can be detrimental and
judgemental, isn’t about competing in the Pain Olympics. I’m not interested in playing that
game, because there is never a winner. I do not criticise those whose own path
is to follow the “I’ll achieve it if I try hard enough” path. If it works for
them, then I will be cheering them on. I’m also not interested in “silencing
pregnant women or mothers” into submission as the writer suggested. But I am
interested in talking about the facts. And equally, I won’t be silenced either.

But the facts are that some of us did try everything that
was available to us, everything that was possible for us. There are those who may
not be prepared to believe that, but the truth is that we all have different
opportunities, different abilities, different privilege, and different luck
that dictates how far we can go. The facts are that we all go through different
experiences, and these take different tolls on us, and so limits all differ
from each other. The facts are that what seems to one person to be an easy
choice and the logical next step is for another person an insurmountable hurdle
for whatever reasons. The facts are that what seems to be weak and giving up to
one person is in fact, to another, the hardest, bravest, most bitter decision
to face reality and reclaim their life. One person might think that it takes
the most strength to continue, when another might think that it takes the most
strength to accept and move on to another path. One person might choose to
continue to find professionals or new science that keeps giving them hope, and another
might choose to believe the advice their current professionals/science are
giving them. Continuing to pursue a dream is an investment in their future for
one person, and yet for another saying good-bye to that dream and turning
towards another is an investing in their future.

The facts are that none of us should be judged for any of
our decisions or our limits or lack of limits. I wish that our limits were
understood, that medical professionals were more honest and transparent, that
money wasn’t a motivator or a barrier, that society and our friends and family
didn’t shame us into continuing or stopping or feeling like failures.

The
reality is that rejecting the “put your mind to it” or “never give up”
messages, and realising that the only option is to accept that it is over, is
for many of us the only truth we have. In rejecting these messages, we’re not
criticising those who continue to try. It’s not about them. It isn’t a case of sour
grapes, and we’re not playing in the Pain Olympics. We’re just seeking the truth,
our truth, and asking for a little understanding, and a recognition of our
reality.

Update: This series concludes in my next post, Privilege in the No Kidding world

Monday, 18 July 2016

I saw a meme on social media the other day. It said, “People
will never understand something until it happens to them.”

This is true. But the lesson doesn’t end there. Just because
it hasn’t happened to us, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try our hardest to
understand what it might feel like to experience this. We have to try to
understand, whether it is on global terms, trying to put ourselves in the shoes
of refugees from Syria, or on personal terms about how our friends who are
parents feel after sleepless nights, or for them to make the effort to find out
how we feel when they start a sentence with “as a mother."

If we don’t make the effort, we’ll never care about anything
outside of us.

Friday, 15 July 2016

One of my favourite reality shows is Project Runway. I watch
it for the fashion, to feel how out of touch I am and for its
celebration of creativity and inspiration. One thing always puzzles me though.
In one of the last shows, they always ask the last four or five people why they
should be included in the final three to show at New York Fashion Week. And
almost without fail, they all say, “because I want it so badly. I’ve never
wanted anything like this ever before.” As if that’s a decent reason to give
them a place. Only rarely will they refer to their creativity, their skills,
their record of wins, their unique aesthetic, their commercial appeal, etc.
Perhaps they’re part of the generation who have been raised to believe that
wanting it is, in fact, enough.

Ultimately though,
only one is the winner. Others, who have “wanted it” just as much or more,
worked just as hard or more, and shed just as many tears or more as the winner,
don’t take home the prize, receive the title, or bask in the accolades.

So clearly, “wanting
it enough, working hard enough, believing in themselves” are not, in fact,
enough to ensure we achieve our goal. We certainly see
evidence of that in the infertility world, nowhere more so than here in our No Kidding blogging community.

So many of us cling
to the idea that if we want it enough, we somehow deserve the reward. Who can
blame us, after all the messages pushing the ideas that we must become mothers, and that it is within our grasp if we try hard enough? But those of us on this side know that wanting it,
sticking at it, and working hard are in fact, never enough. They might
help. They might in fact work for some people. But for the majority of us, we
know that ultimately, luck and/or fate and/or genes and/or location and/or
wealth and/or privilege or whatever you want to call it is going to play a
part.

Monday, 11 July 2016

The exact same
reasons for the belief, or rather, the message, that I outlined in my previous
post exist here in the infertility world:

Society:Our pro-natal society teaches us to
believe that a) everyone will become a parent easily, and b) our place in
society and our life’s value is inextricably linked with becoming a parent.
When we begin to find that it is not as easy as we’ve been led to believe, we
start to question ourselves, our value, and our place in society. We start to
panic, and feel helpless. The message that we can in fact have children, as long as we try
hard enough and never give up, fits all those societal expectations that we have absorbed.

Hope: We began trying to conceive because we wanted
to be parents. Hope that we will achieve our goals keeps us going. Hope without
control is tough, so we need to believe that we have some control over the
process. So we have to hope that our efforts will allow us to achieve our goals.
After all, we’ve been taught to believe that the alternative is not to be
considered.

Altruism/Connection: “You can do it too!” “Never give
up!” “We’ll be parents together!” Those who have been through infertility have
known the torture of wanting something that is so central to our humanity, but
seemingly outside of our ability to achieve it. It’s hard going through this,
and hard to see others still going through it. So those who have received their prize like to encourage those who are
left trying, they want to connect and pass on some of their happiness and satisfaction. It’s
well-intentioned, and done with love, I know. Those who are still going through it want to believe that these statements are true for everyone, including and primarily themselves. So they too will encourage others to keep trying, to keep believing, to keep wanting it enough.

Self-aggrandisement: After often years of effort,
grief, loss, treatments, disappointment, it is perhaps natural for someone to
want to congratulate themselves on achieving their goal, to feel that they made
the difference, that they wouldn’t be pregnant without their specific efforts,
their decisions that made this cycle different, their perseverance that shows
they wanted it enough, that they tried hard enough, that they believed, that
they were worthy. They want to feel they had some control, and that they can
take some credit in their achievement.

Commercial motivations: The fertility industry and
adoption industries push success and opportunity and focus on the outcomes.
It’s in their financial interests for people to keep going and going, to try new things, to keep believing it will work for them. Pamela writes extensively on
this issue, and I bow to her superior knowledge.

Two of my commenters on my previous post provided other good reasons that also should be noted:

Fear:Valery suggested that maybe this is also out of fear - fear that maybe they actually never had any control. If there was no control, it means that they could just as easily not have had the success, despite all their efforts.

Guilt:Ruby suggested that perhaps it was out of guilt. Survivor's guilt is easier to deal with if you believe that you had some control, and can take some credit, for the result.

So, does wanting it enough work? Don't answer that - it will be my next post, and you can guess what I'm about to say!

Last year, I wrote a childless woman’s guide to surviving the school holidays, but this month, I won’t be able to follow it at all.
Geography has separated me from many relatives, and until two years ago, I only
saw my great-nephew every few years, and he really had no idea who I was,
saying politely at one stage, “it was nice to meet you!” But – out of tragedy –
we’ve had the opportunity to get to know each other better, and he’s discovered
my husband understands computers and computer games, something he used to do
with his dad.

So this year, when his mother asked him what he wanted for
his birthday, he replied, “I want to go to Wellington and stay with Auntie
[Mali] and Uncle D – on my own.”
He arrives on Wednesday, and I have to say, I’m a little terrified. He’s
a 13-year-old boy, the first boy in our family in three generations, and the only 13-year-old boys I've known in my life were when I was a 13-year-old girl!

Oh, and did I mention that his mother and I were pregnant at
the same time?

Friday, 8 July 2016

A week or so ago, I promised not to write a post that promises that
you can achieve anything you put your mind to it. In the comments, Cristy
wondered why this belief exists?

I’ve drafted several versions of a post attempting to answer
this. At first, I wrote a long response about the history of this belief, going
back to immigrant miners, through to my grandparents’ and parents’ generations,
and in my lifetime, the arrival of “Girls can do Anything” catchphrase, leading
up to this very prevalent idea that we can in fact achieve anything as long as
we work hard enough/want it enough/put our minds to it. But I’ve not researched
this history enough to hit print, and they’re only my off-the-top-of-my-head
theories, so – having mentioned them – I’ll drop that.

Then I jumped straight to its application in the infertility
world, and began writing about that, though I’ve decided that should be my next
two posts (and I confess to being nervous about posting these). But first, this message doesn't just appear in the infertility world. So here today, I’m back to some wider thoughts about the “you can achieve
anything you put your mind to/work hard enough/want it enough” message that is
so prevalent in society today. So, as Cristy asked, “Why does this belief
exist?”

I think there are several reasons. On any given day, around
any given issue, we might be influenced by just one of these, by a combination,
or by all of them. You may disagree with these, or maybe you can come up with
more. Please, tell me in the comments.

Self-aggrandisement: People who have achieved their dreams
or who have broken through the glass ceiling are allowed to talk about this
because, supposedly, they know what they’re talking about. But saying, “anyone
can achieve anything they put their mind to,” is another way of saying, “look
at me, I’m wonderful!” It’s humble bragging, saying that whilst anyone can do
it, they were in fact one of the few who was special enough – worthy enough -
to actually be able to achieve it. They look at their efforts, and remember how
hard it was to achieve what they wanted, how long it took, and how much they
wanted this. They want to feel all that hard work was justified, and that it
was wholly responsible for the outcome, so they believe that their success was
due primarily to their efforts. And of course, because they’ve achieved it, they
have been anointed with credibility. They did it, so they must know what
they’re talking about, right?

Altrusim: I can see that people who say this, at their best,
want to be inspirational, to help others achieve what they’ve achieved. And
many of us want them to be inspirational too. So they encourage, and try to
spread the word. Do what I did (try hard, believe in it, or simply want it
enough) and you too will get success.

Society: Our society’s moral values teach the values of hard
work. My father-in-law, having lived through the Great Depression (yes, it
severely affected NZ too – America sneezes, and the rest of the world catches
cold) and its aftermath, believes that work is the purpose of life, that it
gives your life its value, and that working hard is the highest level of
virture. So “working hard” and “trying hard” are seen as virtuous attributes in
themselves. It seems to me that in society these days, “wanting it enough”
seems to be a more recent addition and distortion to this original concept.

Commercial motivations: So we are inundated with the message
that success is within our reach if only we do X, Y and Z. We see it in the
marketing of products and services – it’s always been there. We see it in the
massive growth of the self-help industry. There’s now a lot invested –
literally – in the continuation of this message, or its variations. They want,
no, need us to believe this. We can achieve what we’ve always wanted if only we
buy their products, and use their services, follow their advice, read their
books, do what they did. It is all within our grasp. Nothing is out of our
reach. It’s our fault if we don’t take the opportunities offered. On a
macro-scale, our entire economic systems are based on promoting this message,
even if the systems themselves are based on quite the opposite premise. (Though
that’s another post/book/endless debate to be had, one that doesn’t belong
here.)

Hope: We all want to believe that we could achieve these
things though. When we say that “anyone can achieve anything if they want it
enough” we are holding out hope that we too can achieve these things. How
depressing to think that because of the way we look, or where we were born, or
what genitals we have will be more of a predictor of our success and our value
to society than our own thoughts and actions. So we eagerly buy into the idea
that we can achieve anything we want, if we want it/work hard enough/believe it
enough. It’s aspirational, right? And we think that that has to be a good thing.

Monday, 4 July 2016

I’ve been working on a number of longer posts (watch this
space), and so haven’t posted mid-week this week, and didn’t have a pithy
eight-sentence post ready for today either. Clearly, my plan to write a blog
schedule has gone by the wayside, but hopefully you’ll see some evidence of my
labours soon.

It’s my mother-in-law’s birthday on Wednesday, and I plan to
bake her a birthday cake. I don’t get to bake birthday cakes for my never-born children,
or for any nieces and nephews, so I’m quite happy to do it for my elderly in-laws.
I’m thinking a lemon layer cake - because she lost a lot of her tastebuds several years ago with radiation treatment, but can still taste tart citrus flavours - but first I need to find a good recipe, and must remember to make sure
I have the right pans before I start.

I am finally able to start thinking about where we might travel next, possibly
in November or December when my husband’s contract will have ended. There are
advantages to being unencumbered by the need to provide a memorable Christmas for
any children, or to travel only during school holidays. Anyone have any suggestions
of good destinations at that time of year?

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About Me

This is my blog on living and loving life without children after infertility. Currently I'm a blogger, a self-employed businessperson, amateur photographer, and traveller.

I blog on A Separate Life about my everyday life, but this is a space for thoughts on my No Kidding lifestyle, the good and the bad, remembering what was lost, and celebrating what I have.

My husband and I are the stereotypical couple without children who love to travel. I am (at) travellingMali on Instagram and there I post photos of various trips internationally, past and present, and of NZ travels, along with the occasional photos from where I live.

In 2013 I travelled in Europe and the Middle East for five months, and kept a blog at Lemons to Limoncello.

I also had a travelblog some years ago, but stopped posting in 2012, which you can see at Mali's Travelalphablog. I'm hoping to start a travel blog again, so watch this space!